


there's something in your chest, and it's not just blood,

by mikasas



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 12:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3134120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikasas/pseuds/mikasas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hey, hawke, i think you've got something in your armor there—</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's something in your chest, and it's not just blood,

_There’s something there_ , Isabela thinks dimly as she watches Hawke get impaled by a sword half again as big as she is. _And not just a giant stick in her kidneys, ha-ha—_

She is mine, Hawke says, and Isabela can barely hear her over the rush of blood pounding in her ears and the bursts of blood spattering across the floor, dripping through the rends in her armor, spilling out the corner of her mouth; she is mine, this city is mine, you can’t have her, you can’t have her you can’t you can’t you can’t she’s _mine she’s mine she’s mine—_

Fenris and Isabela stand together, half impassive and half dumbstruck, as the Arishok’s head rolls to the floor and Hawke drops next to it, the Arishok’s sword still in her armor, her gut. Anders runs forward, glowing blue and draining a lyrium potion and swearing under his breath. A pale, blood-splattered Aveline claps Isabela on the shoulder once before shepherding the surviving nobles into a corner so the Qunari can file out without incident; the force of the hit nearly sends Isabela to her knees.

            “The sword,” Anders chokes, bursts of blue flying from his hands as he hovers anxiously over Hawke’s limp body, “it’s stuck in her stupid—fucking—chestplate, I can’t get it out—“

            Fenris stirs like he’s waking up, strides forward, lights up, neatly phases his hand through Hawke’s armor and flesh and blood and yanks the blade out without even a grunt of effort. Anders barely nods in acknowledgement before he’s working at the straps of Hawke’s armor, hands deft and steady, and when he pulls the whole stupid deathtrap off Hawke’s chest Isabela sinks to the ground.

            _There’s something there,_ she thinks, and then, _shit, fuck, Maker-fucking-assguzzling-shitting-pieceofshit,_ and also, _please don’t die, please don’t let her die._

            “She won’t die,” Fenris says, quiet but firm. “She is not going to die today.”

            She can’t die, Isabela says, she’s mine, and she can barely hear herself, her own voice muffled like she’s trying to talk underwater but no words are falling from her mouth, just clouded sounds and tiny bubbles. _She can’t die. You can’t have her._

_She’s mine._

 


End file.
